


With you, always

by thesadchicken



Series: The Aftermath of Genesis [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I have a lot of feelings about this okay, M/M, Mind Meld, Nightmares, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, Spock comforts Jim, old married spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21744502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: “Every time I close my eyes I feel like I might lose you again.”Jim has nightmares; Spock is there to help. Post-The Search for Spock angst (with a happy ending).
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: The Aftermath of Genesis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567234
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105





	With you, always

**Author's Note:**

> While writing this, I listened to [Stay With Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVM1JxBx2TA) and [Together We Will Live Forever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swAicg0GjNg) by Clint Mansell. Both are great pieces and I recommend listening to them while reading.
> 
> This story is based on a prompt by my funky little sister; your mind is such a lovely place to be, Emna. I love you ♡

Embers rise from the ground, carried by the wind into the burning sky – red, everything is red; fire and blood and the entire planet roiling around him. Jim’s legs ache, but he keeps on running. He’s been running for so long, he’s not sure if he knows how to stop.

Someone is screaming far ahead. A voice Jim should recognize, but doesn’t – he’s never heard that beloved voice howl with such agony. It makes his entire body recoil, and he wants to cover his ears. He keeps on running instead.

A shadow falls across the ground. Jim looks up, just in time to see the _Enterprise_ , shooting through the atmosphere like a star. It’s beautiful, bursting into flames as it sinks towards the horizon, so beautiful that Jim bites back a sob. He trips over something, and for a moment he stops running to find out what it is.

A body, face down on the ground, golden curls flecked with dirt. Too young to be anything but sleeping. Jim’s coat is already in his hands, and he leans over the slumbering boy, covering him. “Goodnight, David,” Jim whispers, the way he should have years ago, the way he should have every day. Flames dance around him, and the same horrible shrieks fill the air once more. Before he can even think, Jim is running again.

The sun hangs low in the sky. The ominous rumbling of the ground beneath Jim’s feet continues, sending tremors through the boulders, the fallen trees; the very air he breathes. Suddenly the path in front of him shifts from dirt to rock, and there’s another body abandoned up ahead. _It’s him_.

Jim runs faster, wincing at the pain rushing up his thighs. He reaches out, his arm trembling, fingers brushing the dark fabric of a Vulcan robe. The body under it is motionless but warm, and Jim stumbles to his knees, his eyes fixed on that face he knows so well. “I’m here, Spock,” he says, “Let’s go home.”

Suddenly there is glass between them, cold and unyielding, although the world is still ending all around. Jim presses his hands to the glass, shaking his head. He can see Spock’s body on the other side, and he can feel the rocky ground digging into his knees. Dread wraps its bony fingers around his throat. There is nothing he can do, he knows this – he knows this even as he bangs on the glass with all his might, feeling his knuckles and arms bruise from the force of his blows. He knows that the glass won’t give, that the sky won’t stop burning above, and that the flames will soon reach them. There is nothing he can do.

“No!” Jim cries, pressing his palms into the glass as if he could reach right through it, “Spock!”

And then Spock’s voice, ringing above the unrelenting chaos of _Genesis_ dying: _You left me here… why did you do that?_

Jim’s hands shake uncontrollably, sliding down the glass as he stares at them in horror. “I didn’t know… I never would have left you –”

_Help me…_

Everything is red – with fire, with blood. Jim sobs into the glass, leaning his forehead onto it. “Please, Spock…”

_Help me, Jim…_

“I can’t… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

A pulse runs through the ground. Jim’s face is wet. There is nothing he can do. Around him is a planet in the throes of Armageddon. Spock has gone impossibly still.

There is nothing he can do.

Jim opens his eyes with a cry, and his entire body jolts awake. Before he is fully aware of what’s happening, he is pulled against a solid chest and two strong arms are wrapped around his shoulders. “You are safe, _ashayam_ ,” Spock’s voice is real this time, low and comforting against Jim’s ear.

“Spock,” he whimpers, digging his fingers into his husband’s biceps. His chest is still heaving, his eyes still wet. It feels like part of him is still there, on that dying planet, even though the familiar sight of their bedroom in San Francisco greets him when he opens his eyes. “It happened again,” he breathes.

He’s soaked with sweat and yet still trembling. Spock holds him closer, and Jim feels himself melt into the embrace. He presses his nose to Spock’s neck, breathing him in, fighting the urge to weep – in pain or relief, he doesn’t know. His hand slides across his bondmate’s body and comes to rest on his side, just above his heart.

“The same nightmare?” Spock asks gently.

Jim nods. He counts the steady beats of that Vulcan heart, feeling his own slow down to match the rhythm. _One, two, three, four_ … Still beating. Still beating...

“Jim.” A soft kiss lands on Jim’s damp forehead, and he is slowly pushed back down onto the mattress. Spock sits up in bed. “I will get you a glass of water –”

“No!” Jim grabs onto Spock’s arm, pulling him towards the bed, “Stay, please…”

Spock pauses for a second, but it’s too dark for Jim to make out his expression. He shifts slightly on the mattress, then lies back down, leaning in so close their noses touch. “I am here, Jim.”

Flashes of red – fire and blood – flicker through Jim’s mind, and he takes a long, shaky breath. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” he forces his voice into a quietness he doesn’t feel.

And Spock notices, of course. “Tell me,” he says, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Jim shakes his head. “I’ve already told you –”

“Then show me.” Spock’s hand slides up Jim’s jaw and hovers over his psi points, silently asking for permission.

Silence fills the room. There is nothing in the universe Jim would hide from Spock; not a corner of his soul he doesn’t want to share with the man he loves above all else. But this – this kind of sorrow should never be shared. He wants to spare Spock, and maybe he wants to spare himself: he knows his husband, and he knows how the glow in those alien eyes will wilt at the memory of such pain. The pain Spock will no doubt blame himself for. No; one of them hurting is more than enough.

And yet there is solace in sharing, Jim knows from experience. Decades ago they promised each other to always navigate troubled waters hand in hand. Whatever shadows creep into their dreams they will fight off together. Jim puts his hand on Spock’s cheek. “Yes,” he says. There is strength in the word.

Spock places his fingertips over Jim’s psi points. “ _Kashkau wuhkuh eh teretuhr_ ,” he whispers.

Jim feels the familiar spark marking the beginning of a Vulcan mind-meld, and he leans into it, sending his mind towards Spock’s until he can’t tell them apart. They slip into each other with ease, two minds so compatible they fit together perfectly. Decades of being bonded have made them comfortable with the meld, and it only takes them a few seconds to adjust. Then the stream of their shared consciousness is flowing freely between them, glowing silver. _Show me, t’hy’la_.

Drops of red hit the clear silver surface, sending ripples through the stream. Tendrils of fire and blood stretch out and twine around each other in crimson spirals. Memories gather in tight coils, scorching with pain. That’s where their shared consciousness dives.

An image forms: Spock’s chair aboard the _Enterprise_ , empty. Terror in the pit of the stomach. Body moving of its own accord, running through the ship. _This can’t be happening, this can’t be true_. Legs shaking, chest heaving, eyes wide. And then the sight of Spock’s body, curled up on the floor. The realization that makes the entire world bend and cave in.

_No, please – no!_

The cold glass between them. The blood, green, covering that beloved face. The bond going eerily quiet, except for a dull ache that Jim wishes he could soothe, _Spock, I want to take away the pain…_ But instead of that, it’s Spock who comforts Jim, speaking words none of them ever thought they would hear. Life fades from the eyes that Jim has loved so well, for so long. Lips parted, fingertips pressing against the glass. _I have been, and always shall be_ –

_Oh Spock, how could you do this to me?_

Another memory: of that burning sky, of desperation, of silent prayers. _Come back! Even as a shadow, even as a dream_ – One last chance, one last desperate chance. The impossible happening, again and again: the world ending and coming back to life all at once. Spock’s body in Jim’s arms, the weight of all his hopes heavy on his aching chest. _My God, Bones… what have I done?_

Then the fire fades, and there is darkness. A voice, the only one that has ever mattered: “Jim. Your name is Jim.”

_Yes, Spock – yes!_

A glimmer of light in the dark. All is not lost. The world has stopped ending and all is not lost… The stream glows silver once more, and silence has returned. A single black rock remains beneath the water. _Show me one last time, t’hy’la_.

The rock floats to the surface, defying the laws of nature. In its core is a single, unspeakable fear. It unravels like yarn, slowly. And then it spills out. “I never thought I would lose you. I thought it was impossible. Now I see myself losing you a thousand different ways, and every moment spent with you feels like the last.”

Silence. Their minds slide back into place, each leaving the comfort of the other’s touch as the meld comes to an end. Spock lifts his fingers from Jim’s face.

There is a light outside their window – a thread of sunlight flickering on the horizon, vacillating between night and day. Jim can see Spock clearly now; he can see his eyes, worried and tired, and the guilt he knew he’d find there.

“You did what you had to do,” Jim’s voice is weak.

“I do not regret it,” Spock answers. “I saved the ship. I saved you.”

“Yes…”

“And then you saved me.”

“Spock…”

“I only regret… this,” Spock’s finger brushes away a tear from his husband’s cheek. Jim wonders when he cried. In the stillness of dawn, it’s just him and Spock, alone. Together.

“There’s nothing to regret,” Jim turns his face slightly, pressing his lips to Spock’s finger. “There was no other way.”

There are things Jim isn’t saying, things he can’t say – words too heavy for him to burden Spock with. More than anything, he wants to keep this to himself. More than anything, he wants to scream it at the rising sun. It’s strange, not knowing what he wants. Not knowing what to do. Jim swallows, leaning his forehead against Spock’s. He won’t tell him. Words too heavy – and it’s not Spock’s burden to bear. Maybe another mind-meld would have revealed these thoughts; but Jim won’t share them, not this time.

A Vulcan eyebrow is raised at him. Spock doesn’t need a mind-meld to know Jim’s thoughts by now.

“But you need to be certain that I am here…” he states, sliding his hand down Jim’s cheek, “… that I will always be here.” He’s silent for a few seconds, then: “I cannot argue with my own mortality, Jim.”

“I know. But –” Jim sighs heavily, “every time I close my eyes I feel like I might lose you again.”

They lie in bed side by side, foreheads touching, Spock’s knuckles tenderly brushing Jim’s jaw. Outside the sky is shifting from black to blue. The curtains cast soft shadows on the floor.

“And I shouldn’t ask you to… prove to me that you’re here. That’s not fair. It’s not your fault. But I’m afraid,” Jim closes his eyes, the revelation painful on his lips, “I’m afraid.”

He feels Spock shaking his head, and he opens his eyes.

“There is nothing to fear,” Spock’s voice is gentle. “I will not leave you again.”

The inner corners of Jim’s eyebrows tilt up, and he touches his mouth to Spock’s. He thought they would never be here together again. He thought he would never feel those soft lips against his, those slender fingers on the back of his neck, that beautiful mind whirling with ideas, projecting love and adoration through the bond. He thought he would never look into those dark eyes and see them looking back.

Suddenly there is a hunger gnawing at Jim’s insides; a hunger so fierce it takes his breath away. He wants Spock, _right now_ , with an urgency that surprises him. Even though their lips are still touching, Jim feels cold. He wants their bodies pressed against each other, with not a sliver of daylight between them. He wants to feel the life coursing through Spock’s body; he wants to feel it burning on his skin. He pulls Spock into a bruising kiss, holding him as close as he can, like he can’t stand not touching – or not being touched.

Jim’s hands slide down Spock’s back, holding on to him as he deepens the kiss, and Spock responds by hooking a leg around Jim’s waist. Waves of fire crash through the bond, but it is a different flame. The desire is desperate, their movements frantic. The bed creaks beneath them.

 _With you, now_. Spock’s body is welcoming. Spock’s body is eager. They roll around, sighing, and Jim wants more, more, he wants everything – _here, with you, right now_. The sweetest sound escapes Spock’s lips as Jim reaches down, caressing, holding, stroking, claiming. Heat, heavy breathing, a whispered plea. Spock’s hands are on Jim’s back, guiding him in. Finally they are joined, finally they are one. Jim holds Spock’s hand as he moves back and forth, his desire more urgent than ever.

 _With you, always_. On and on, until they are both panting, until they are both shaking. When they reach the edge, they don’t wait. Now is not the time for waiting. They hold each other when the rain comes: Spock first, and Jim only moments later. A shiver and a sigh. Joy and love and warmth flooding the bond.

In the afterglow they are safe. The pain has crawled back into its shadowy cave. They kiss again, slowly, lazily. This feels right. This makes sense. This is how it will be forever.

“I love you, Spock. I love you so much.”

Jim almost falls asleep after that, smiling against his husband’s chest, but then Spock holds him closer and whispers, “I love you too, Jim.”

And Jim knows that fear can’t survive where there is so much happiness.


End file.
